


Do Not Look Directly At The Sun

by starvonnie



Series: Megarod Week [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Purple Prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27025957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starvonnie/pseuds/starvonnie
Summary: A very abstract and metaphor-heavy bit of fic with Rodimus as the sun and Megatron as the moon.
Relationships: Megatron/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Series: Megarod Week [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968379
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23
Collections: Megarod Week





	Do Not Look Directly At The Sun

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is but enjoy I guess lol

_He is the sun, and I am the moon. He gives life and light, and at best, I can reflect that same light. He is vibrant, bright, and everchanging, and I am a hunk of rock._

He could do so much better.

He gets jealous. He sees all the people who look up at the moon, awash in what they call moonlight, but it is _his_ light. The light that they shun during the day! They claim that it hurts to look at him!

And he _is_ hard to look at directly. He is loud. Brash. _Fiery_. But _necessary_. He may not get the attention—the _appreciation_ —that he deserves, but there is no doubt in Megatron’s mind that his absence would plunge the world, or at the very least the _Lost Light_ , into a much darker time.

They orbit. What had once been a begrudging closeness, an elliptical orbit, slowly rounded out and tightened. The moon chased the sun, but as the days wore on, the sun allowed the moon to catch up.

They have a multitude of near-misses. A lingering stare. Words a tad too honest. An accidental brush of fingertips. Enmeshed EM fields and a tug on their sparks. It leaves Megatron’s plating tingling in anticipation for what is _almost_ there. And he feels it. He knows it is coming. Even if he could somehow dig up the willpower to distance himself once more, he is in Rodimus’ gravitational pull. 

Where the sun went, the moon would follow.

They collide in a messy confession followed by a fervent kiss. He is permitted to hold the sun in his arms, and he feels the weight he carries. He wants to help him shoulder that load. Who was he to steal his light when it took so much out of him to make it?

They come out of the impact mostly unscathed. Every feeling is messy. They cannot hope to have a normal relationship, but neither of them has ever wanted normalcy. 

But it is _raw_. It is sparks bared, and it is vulnerable. It is coming to terms with their sins. 

Much of the world is stacked against them. They don’t want to see them happy. Or at the very least, they don’t want to see _Megatron_ happy. He doesn’t deserve this. This _happiness_. But Rodimus does. To take away Megatron’s happiness would be to rob Rodimus of his as well. No matter how hard the world tries, however, they persist. 

Their love is a series of eclipses. It is during these eclipses that he shows him. 

_See the lengths they go to witness your beauty? Your majesty? You are an ethereal vision. Mortal eyes cannot fathom your existence without being blinded. It is a blessing and a curse. But they wish to view you. I will help them to see your gorgeous light._

“I wish I didn’t need you,” Rodimus confesses, pressed flush to Megatron. 

“You don’t.”

“But I _do_. I need you like… like this.” He strokes up Megatron’s chest, his hands coming up to cup Megatron’s chin. “And I need you to get the crew’s respect. To get them to listen to me.”

“You’re a good captain, Rodimus. The _better_ captain.”

“I’m better when I’m with you,” Rodimus says. “We’re at our best when we’re together.”

“I know I am,” Megatron agrees, to at least that. Rodimus is his conscience personified. He is the voice in the back of his processor; the voice he had lost somewhere along the way. Only now, he is right there in front of him. Impossible to ignore. He has to face each tough decision head on. “But you do not need me. You are a great leader. Even if you don’t see it, there are people who look up to you. They trust you to lead them on this quest.”

Rodimus pulls Megatron down to kiss him. His lips are warm. His _frame_ is warm. He burns in a way that doesn’t hurt. All of his day’s problems melt away under his careful touch. The _Lost Light_ could implode around them and Megatron wouldn’t notice. Primus, himself, could appear before them and offer immortality, riches, _fame_ , and still, Megatron’s focus would be on half-lidded Matrix-blue optics.

“I think I love you.” Rodimus says this out of the blue. They aren’t doing anything special. Just enjoying their morning ration and catching up on the news. But he says it, and in his optics Megatron can see that the “I think” was tacked on to protect himself. They sparkle with fear. A fear that, for Megatron, their union does not run as deep. Little does Rodimus know, that the moon does not love the sun because he needs him, but that he needs him _because_ he loves him. His reflection is just that: a confession of love.

“I don’t think,” Megatron answers, resting his hand over Rodimus’, “I _know_.”

The sun beams, and only his lover may gaze upon his bright visage without fear of injury. 

The sun beams, and the moon reflects. Perhaps one day, he may shine with his own light and show the sun all that he gives him. But for now, he is an admirer. 

And so, so in love.


End file.
